Threats? He grinned quick and gone, a vulpine look which was all blunt white teeth and shining eyes, but Desmond bit his tongue for once and let her sally forth.
"So he told you why but not who," he started while she finished. "That's almost courteous. Didn't think he had it in him." As Lust so pointedly ignored him by her side, Desmond forced himself to stop studying her profile and instead glanced down. The elaborate, over-sized watch around his wrist had its strap unbuckled. He continued rambling on.
"Did you ask Mona? Did you wonder why she sent me in as a fixer for the crock of shit she and Greed turned over? Desmond Libera, Parthena Vale, but since we're getting to the nitty gritty and you don't like BS, g'wan and call me Divorce.
"Imagine how hilarious it was to have to come in and clean up a mess instead of make one. That included you, incidentally. Mona values your relationship... not that I can blame her." Dropping the watch onto Lust's lap, Desmond sprung back up to his feet. He was off and moving again in no time at all, plucking a cell phone from his pocket and wandering back toward where he'd set his briefcase down.
What Divorce had to say rolled out into the room, staccato speech tempered by a carefully guarded set of emotions. The man spoke without thought toward brain-mouth filters, yet he was oh so careful to guard what he said. Lust, after all, was an opportunistic predator, and things between them had changed.
"You let me apologize on her behalf, and because you're a smart gal who enjoys a good time, we got on just fine. And then..." One hand paused in its ministrations of the case's locks, making an airy, meaningless gesture into the empty air. It was as close to a real expression as Lust would see as he offered his back once more.
"And then we got on real well. Pissed off the right person at the wrong time. You got worked over by Hell, I got worked over by someone else--" Did he want to say Mona? Yes. No. It didn't matter. "--and then the whammy hit. We got conned, honey."